Transition

It’s that same feeling. When you’re a few weeks newly pregnant and no one knows but you. The grocery store aisles are spent dreaming of new life with a baby while you scooch past the crowding carts whose temporary owners probably have their own secret story happening.

This time, I’m just in transition. Out of an occupation I’ve held for over six years, turning my side hustle into a full time gig. Being in one place for too long has never been my thing, except for this time. Sixish years of rooting down. In this job I’ve had a surprise miscarriage, gotten married, bought a house, birthed a rainbow baby and morphed into mother. The little pockets of time in between those great big things have been successfully spent discovering what in the hell I want to actually do with my life.

Is it metamorphosis? Going from immature being to adult being. From caterpillar to butterfly, tadpole to frog. Has it been occurring without me knowing over these last years of building the foundation? This place has built my cornerstones; giving four posts to my small square house. These metaphorical feelings are what transition has always felt like to me. It’s a long, strange trip as an intrical thinker and connector of dots.

Sometimes it feels lonely, doesn’t it, to be the main character of a book that is ending to begin another? It seems colossal only to us and so we think ‘they just don’t get it’. You explain it to your most important and supportive friends and they are so good at giving you the words you’re looking for. Making you feel loved and validated in all of your choices. But somehow it still doesn’t seem like enough. You still travel through the thoughts alone, wondering if you’ve made the right choice and at the same time being hazed with excitement. What an odd place to be.

You’re really convincing yourself—praying, meditating, reading inspirational boss babe material and requesting reassurance from your people—that you’re making the right move. Every little thing that occurs throughout the day can be a reminder that you are ready, or be a small scare that you aren’t. It’s happening nonetheless because you already put in your notice.

The hard conversations have been had. That particular weight of not feeling like you’re lying anymore has been lifted. Knowing there is an end in sight to what has been a lovely time but has needed to conclude—that feeling is unmatched.

If I can triumph over these episodes of doubt with my bag of coping skills in tow, the transition can feel like a crisp deep breath. In through the nose, expanding the ribs, filling up the stomach and out through the mouth. Traveling into the unknown with confidence that if I just keep moving, the next big thing is going to fall in line. It may yield an unexpected crop but it will be new. New things bring an airy light to the heart, pep in the step, a sigh of relief at the sight and thought of them.

This is what I know from experience. Seems like this has been the longest time I’ve gone without being in transition. The conclusion to this book is being written right now. Not just ‘see you later,’ but actually goodbye. It’s time to move on and to you, steady job that has paid the bills and given me a community that I so cherish with every inch of my being, it’s time for you to go. You’ve been so damn good to me.

-Riah Durick

Riah is wife, mother, friend, daughter, childbirth doula and creative. Kentucky has been her home for nearly 33 years. She loves being a mother, supporting mothers, cooking slowly with a glass of wine, laughing around a dinner table, paying attention to detail, and being curious about the intricacies of life’s true purpose. This bio was hard to write because she feels weird talking about herself.